


Oh Better Far to Live and Die

by astro_noms



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-08
Updated: 2004-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astro_noms/pseuds/astro_noms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from the end of <i>The Curse of the Black Pearl</i>. Elizabeth and Will don't get a happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing Else But Change

**Author's Note:**

> The series chapters are not in chronological order, if you want to read them chronologically, then 2-3-1 is the right order, but it's not really necessary.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth avoids dealing with her issues. Jack disapproves.

> Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys. -Alphonse de Lamartine.

He watches her from the moment she comes into view. She's dressed in man's clothing, no doubt something that belonged to her dead husband. If she meant to disguise herself, it didn't work. She makes an even prettier man than he did, and she only calls attention to herself. The leather bag slung over her shoulder is smaller than he expected it to be.

When she reaches the gangway of the _Pearl_, she pauses, looking up to him, asking permission to board without speaking a word. He extends his hand and she comes aboard, taking his hand.

"Elizabeth," he says.

"Captain Sparrow," she inclines her head slightly, ever the polite young woman. She looks older now than she did six months ago, when he last saw her, older than six months' time should have made her. No doubt it has to do with dear William's death at the hands of Commodore Norrington.

They do not speak beyond their first words, and he shows her to a cabin. She lets the bag slip to the floor and her shoulders sag as she loses the composure she fought so hard to maintain when she was on the deck where the crew could see her. Jack pats her back awkwardly and tries to back out of the cabin, but she throws her arms around him and begins to sob. He holds her, letting her cry, until his shirt is soaked with her tears and she only has enough breath left to make small whimpering noises. Silently, he leads her to the bunk, and lays her down. Drawing a blanket over her, he wipes her tears dry and brushes the hair away from her face. By the time he closes the door behind him, she is asleep.

He announces to the crew that she will be staying, and this time there is no one, not even Mr. Gibbs, muttering about a woman on board being bad luck. Perhaps they remember that if it wasn't for her, they might not even be alive. Perhaps they understand the unspoken reason for her being there, the same reason that made Captain Sparrow risk all their lives by sailing into Port Royal as soon as they heard about Will Turner's death.

***

She becomes part of the crew, learning all their duties gradually. Nobody makes any demands of her; they're all willing to give her time to grieve, even if she isn't willing to take it. She spends a lot of time on deck, standing at the bow of the _Pearl_, staring forward into the distance, never looking back. Her skin slowly darkens from the sun and wind, and her hair lightens into a baby-blond shade. She keeps it long, unbound save for a scarf to keep it out of her eyes, and some small beads woven into the long strands. She barely speaks to anyone, except when it's absolutely necessary. Mr. Cotton takes to bringing her meals to her, which she takes in her cabin, apart from everyone else. She is grateful for his service, but his muteness spares her the effort of speaking to him at length beyond the perfunctory courtesies of thanks.

***

When the news of Commodore Norrington's campaign to eliminate all piracy in the Spanish Main reaches them, she shows no sign of emotion. Jack leads the crew of the _Pearl_ in a battle against the HMS _Vindicator_, and when they begin to board the ship, Elizabeth joins Jack, a dagger tucked into her belt, eyes burning with a passion he hasn't seen in them in a long time. When they find Commodore Norrington, wounded, lying on the deck, Elizabeth holds up a hand to stop Mr. Gibbs and Anamaria as they move to grab him. She kneels by him, not speaking, as she wipes the blood from his face. He stares at her in shock, never having expected to see her as part of a pirate crew. Jack and the rest of the crew don't have time to stop her as she draws the knife and calmly slits Norrington's throat. She wipes the blade on his uniform and tucks it back into her belt. They watch as she rises to her feet and heads back to the _Pearl_.

***

Late one afternoon, Jack comes into her cabin, ignoring her startled exclamation of protest. He heads straight for the cupboard, the one she forgot to lock that afternoon, the one with the things she so guardedly sought out before coming aboard the _Pearl_, the one she's been opening almost every day since she came aboard. He throws the doors open, and takes out the small glass bottle, stoppered with a cork. He sets it on the table, and soon the jar of sugar cubes and the bottle of absinthe join it. The sun's rays shine into the cabin, making the emerald green liquid sparkle. Jack looks up at her, questioning her without words. She stares back at him, refusing to justify anything.

"How long?" He asks.

"Since Will died," she tells him. "It helps. With the pain, with the memories."

He picks up the small bottle and goes to the open window. "No more," he says, and throws the bottle out. She cries out, and runs to the window, only to see the bottle disappear beneath the waves. Jack walks back to the table and picks up the jar of sugar cubes and the bottle of absinthe. As he moves to the window, she steps in his way, grabbing for the bottle. They struggle, and the bottle and the jar fall to the floor, shattering. The absinthe spills in a green puddle, and Elizabeth screams in frustration. She lunges at him, hitting blindly, clawing at him. He grabs her wrists and holds them away from himself while they continue to struggle.

Her shirtsleeves fall away from her wrists and he notices what he hasn't seen before: the thin tracery of scars covering the insides of her arms. She tries to jerk her arms out of his grasp, but he holds them tightly. He runs a thumb lightly over the scars, and she becomes quiet and calm, both of them remembering the night they were stranded on the island, drunk on rum and desperation, two peas in a pod, lost in the world of orderliness. He lets her go and she backs away from him, pulling her sleeves down, covering her arms up.

Jack searches the small cabin, looking for any more hidden laudanum and absinthe. He finds a small bottle tucked away in the empty leather bag she came aboard with. As he takes it out, Elizabeth flies at him again, trying to get the bottle before he throws it out the window, and she manages to pry it out of his fingers. She backs away from him, but unless she's willing to run out of the cabin, she has nowhere to go.

He corners her in an alcove formed by the counter that runs the length of one of the walls, and reaches for her hand. He's standing close to her, pinning her into the alcove with his body, and they both become aware of what they're doing at the same time. As Jack continues to try to get the bottle from her, she brings it up between them and drops it down her shirt, raising a defiant eyebrow at him. Jack stays where he is, his body pressed intimately close against hers, suddenly aware of her as a woman, not just as Elizabeth. The look on her face is challenging, and he decides to answer it. With a hand he pretends not to notice is trembling, he reaches inside her shirt, fishing for the bottle. She gasps as his hand brushes against her breasts and Jack raises his eyes to the sky, sending and unspoken request for forgiveness to Will Turner for what he's about to do. Then he closes his eyes and plunges in, lowering his mouth to hers, claiming her lips in a crushing kiss.

He's surprised when she responds, kissing him back as fiercely as any woman he's ever kissed. The bottle of laudanum forgotten, he raises the hand still inside her shirt to cup her breast, and thrills at the small moan of pleasure that escapes her lips. Her hands fumble at his shirt, trying to get it off him, and he lets her undo his belt and throw it to the floor. She undoes his shirt as he disposes of hers, and then lets it slide off his shoulders. They stand together, naked from the waist up, and then he sees a glimmer of hesitation in her eyes. Elizabeth is on the verge of backing off, and somehow Jack knows that if he lets her do it, he'll never get her back. She'll get more laudanum or something else to numb the pain and he'll lose her forever.

He kisses her, crushing her lips again as he lifts her up so that she's sitting on the counter. Before she can do or say anything, he rips at her pants, yanking them off her until he sends her flying back. She ends up on her back, looking up at him with a mixture of anger and defiance in her eyes, as if she still thinks he won't take it all the way. He fumbles at his pants and then he's between her legs, holding her knees apart with his hands. He takes her deep and hard, driving into her over and over, wanting more than anything – more than his own release – to drive the haunted look from her eyes and the sorrow from her heart. She responds to him, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him closer with each thrust. He reaches for her breasts again, his hands obscenely dark against the milky white skin of her body. He can't stop touching her, his hands moving from her hips, where he uses them to control her movements, to her legs, to her breasts, to her arms with their lattice of scars. Then she's sitting up, pressing herself against him, head thrown back as he feels her climax and goes over the edge himself.

Jack moves away from her, leaving her sprawled on the counter. As he gets dressed, he notices the small bottle lying in the folds of her shirt. He picks it up, and goes to the window, aware that she's following his every move. He closes his hand around the bottle, clenching the fist almost hard enough to break the glass. He throws the bottle out in a violent motion, and it bounces off the side of the hull before sinking into the ocean. He picks up his shirt and puts it on, as Elizabeth watches from where she's lying on the counter.

"Never again," he says. "Not on my ship." With that, he goes to the door.

"I could just leave, you know," she says, sitting up. "The next port, I could be gone, just like that."

"And where would you go, Elizabeth? Who would take you in? Everyone in the Spanish Main knows who you are. Everyone knows you sailed with us when we took the _Vindicator_. I have no doubt that your dispatching of Commodore Norrington is known far and wide. You have nowhere to go."

"I could manage," she says defiantly.

"You're welcome to try," he tells her coldly and leaves the cabin.

***

He's standing behind the wheel, staring at the setting sun's reflection on the water when she comes up behind him. She joins him without a word, and when he looks at her, and she looks back at him, some of the sadness is gone from her eyes. She stands beside him, staring at the horizon in front of them.

"Never again," she says. "Not on your ship, Captain Sparrow."

They stay at the wheel together for a long time, the _Pearl_ sailing smoothly into the night.


	2. Jaundice of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norrington gives in to his desires, with disastrous effects.

> Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the pretence of keeping it alive   
> \--Havelock Ellis, _On Life and Sex: Essays of Love and Virtue_, 1937

Commodore James Norrington walks the length of shore at Port Royal, surveying the proceedings. A myriad small boats mill to and fro, providing supplies to the ships anchored farther out, and transporting people both to shore and to the ships. He sees a familiar figure - young William Turner - pushing through the throng, heading in the direction of the dock. Curiosity - and the ale he consumed in the tavern - gets the better of Norrington, and he abandons returning to Fort Charles in favor of following the blacksmith's progress.

It's easy to see that Turner is waiting for someone. He paces the length of the dock, pausing occasionally to scan the boats weaving their way toward shore. Norrington tries to imagine just whom Turner was waiting for, but he isn't prepared for what he sees. A small boat reaches the dock; its sole occupant easily managing the ropes and stepping onto shore. Norrington is only slightly surprised that the boat's occupant turned out to be a woman. He recalls hearing about her from Elizabeth when they were returning to Port Royal. Anamaria, Elizabeth had said her name was. A loyal member of Jack Sparrow's crew. A pirate.

The Commodore, still sanding at the dock, makes sure to keep a group of people between himself and Turner at all times, and watches them speak. They exchange small packets, most likely letters. Keeping in touch, then, Norrington surmises. Jack Sparrow is a pirate, but he is apparently considered a friend by the Turners. For a moment, Norrington wishes for the lack of constraints that the Turners' simple life gives them. Three months married, with no obligations but Turner's customers, they can come and go as they please, without having to place duty before desire.

He is about to return to the Fort when he catches sight of Anamaria passing something else to Turner. It's a canvas bag, fairly large, and fairly heavy, too, if Turner's surprise at the way it drops to the ground is any clue. Norrington catches the muffled jingle of the bag hitting the ground and frowns. He knows that Turner has come away from Isla de Muerta with a substantial amount of gold, taken from the pirate hoard there. He has used it to get himself established as a wealthy merchant and artisan, in order to provide Elizabeth with a good life. Norrington admires his efforts, but sometimes, especially on nights when he's drunk too much, he can't help but pettily insist to himself that he could have given Elizabeth a better life still.

Now, as he stands watching Turner get a better grip on the bag Anamaria has given him, a thought penetrates his ale-soaked brain. This is your chance to get her back. You can use this to get rid of Turner, and eventually, Elizabeth will be yours again. He shakes his head, trying to understand the situation. Here he is, witnessing a suspicious exchange of gold for... something, between Turner and a known pirate. He's probably passing information about Port Royal to Sparrow, he thinks. They're planning another attack! You can't let him get away with this!

Anamaria is back in the boat now, pushing away from the dock, and Turner waves a farewell. As Norrington watches, he hoists the heavy bag over his shoulder and starts walking back to town. Trying to be silent, Norrington follows him, intending to confront the blacksmith about his treachery.

They are almost at the house where the Turners live when Will drops the bag to the ground and turns around, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"I can hear you following me, so why don't you come out in the open and face me like a man!" Turner calls out, and the Commodore steps out of the shadows.

"Got a guilty conscience, Turner? Is that why you're so worried about someone following you?" He is aware that his words are slurred, but presses on. "Tell me, is it the pirate gold that's weighing you down, or your guilt?"

"Commodore," Turner says, "what are you talking about?"

"I saw you with the pirate woman," Norrington tells him. "I saw you passing information to her, in exchange for the gold!"

Turner looks confused. "Were you following me?"

"I didn't need to. You were shameless enough to conduct your exchange in broad view of everyone."

"For your information, Commodore," Turner emphasizes the last word, "I was giving her letters for Captain Sparrow and Mr. Gibbs. Elizabeth wrote something to the both of them, as well as to Anamaria." He motions to the bag at his feet. "The gold is payment for an order Captain Sparrow placed with me," he tells Norrington.

"A likely story, Turner," Norrington draws himself up to his full height. "It's more likely, however, that it is payment for you spying on Port Royal and passing the information on to Sparrow so he can prepare an attack. I'll have you arrested for this, Turner."

The blacksmith eyes him with a steely glare. "All I carry are the letters and the gold, you have no way to prove what you're saying. I have letters in the smithy which prove that the gold is payment for the order." The young man looks at him and his expression softens. "Commodore, you have had a lot to drink. Go home, get some sleep, before you say or do something you will regret."

Norrington pauses for a moment, swaying on his feet. He breathes deeply through his nose, puffing out his chest. "Turner," he says, enunciating every word carefully, "you are a spy. You have dishonored not only yourself, but also your wife. Given that she is the governor's daughter, I am sure I can assure her leniency, should she prove to be involved in this. You, however, are guilty of treason."

Turner's eyes narrows and he clenches the hand on the hilt of the sword, barely stopping himself from drawing it. "You have gone too far, sir," he says. "You have insulted not only my honor, but that of my wife. For that, I demand satisfaction."

You've got him where you want him, the small voice whispers in the back of Norrington's head. He just saved you the trouble of a public inquiry, and the effort of planting evidence and bribing false witnesses. Suddenly, Norrington feels much of his drunken haze evaporate into the cool evening air. "I shall be happy to oblige you, Mr. Turner. You will hear from me regarding the details." With that, he walks away, heading to the Fort.

***

The next morning, he calls Lieutenant Gillette into his office and, after swearing the man to secrecy, confides in him about the confrontation with Turner. He leaves out enough details to make it look like he regrets whatever he said to provoke Turner into challenging him. Sheepishly, he asks Gillette's opinion of the matter, and the lieutenant obligingly urges his commanding officer to set and keep the appointment Turner demanded.

"He challenged you, sir, therefore you choose the weapons. Turner is an outstanding swordsman, may I suggest something like pistols?"

Norrington briefly considers protesting Gillette's lack of faith in his skill with a sword, but decides against it. The lieutenant is right - Turner is excellent with a sword. He, on the other hand, is a marksman with a pistol. If he truly intends to carry his scheme forward - eliminating Turner and the pursuing Elizabeth - he needs to ensure that his plan will go his way.

"Commodore, sir," Gillette was saying, distracting Norrington from his thoughts. "If you would allow me the honor, sir, I will take care of the pertinent details."

It is completely legitimate, then. He manages to convince Gillette of the trivial nature of the challenge, and he has no doubt that the lieutenant thinks the duel will be a mere formality - if both Norrington and Turner do not fire their shots into the ground to satisfy custom, then they will send their shots off the mark, neither risking an injury. And now that Gillette has volunteered to serve as his second, Norrington breathes easier. If his courage holds and he carries the plan to its completion, he will be free to pursue Elizabeth.

***

Surprisingly, Officer Groves is Turner's second. They have become friends after Elizabeth's rescue, and according to Gillette, Groves has volunteered to serve his friend in the duel. Turner has chosen a suitable location for the duel, away from Port Royal, where they would be able to settle the matter. They do not have to worry about being arrested for dueling, as the laws have not yet changed as they have in Europe. Here, in Jamaica, two gentlemen with a dispute can choose to resolve matters with a duel of honor, as long as the proper forms are followed.

Briefly, Norrington wonders how much Turner has told Groves, or Elizabeth for that matter. He is reasonably sure that the younger man kept the true reason for the duel a secret, not wanting to risk being exposed as a possible pirate collaborator, no matter how outrageously false Norrington's accusation had been. Norrington does, in fact, know that Turner was making swords for Sparrow and his crew. He experiences a brief pang of his conscience, knowing that he is about to try and kill an innocent man.

Now, three weeks after their confrontation in the street, as Norrington stands in the small meadow, watching the morning fog lift from the ground, his thoughts drift to Elizabeth. If he chooses to kill Turner - and even now, as the hour of the duel approaches, he still is not sure what he means to do - she will be devastated. She will know of the outcome of the duel - Groves will be the one to notify her if Turner is killed - and she will know he was responsible for her husband's death. He hopes she will be able to eventually forgive him and accept him as a friend, and perhaps more.

His opponent approaches, and their seconds go through the last minute rituals - trying to convince the men to settle their differences amicably. When that fails - as everyone has known it would - Gillette and Groves retrieve the pistols and offer them to Turner and Norrington. The two stand back-to-back, rigidly aware of each other, and wait for the signal. Norrington glances at Gillette, who stands on the side with Groves and the doctor both he and Turner have agreed on. He catches a glint of hesitation in the lieutenant's eyes, as if he wants to run out onto the field and convince his superior officer not to go through with the duel. Norrington nods curtly and Gillette announces with a quavering voice.

"Take ten steps in a straight line. Turn, aim and fire."

Groves begins counting off the steps. When he reaches ten, he calls out, "Turn and fire when ready!"

Norrington turns, raising his pistol to aim at Turner. The blacksmith stands facing him, pistol aimed steadily. Norrington is reminded of the day Turner had foolishly endeavored to save Jack Sparrow from the gallows. When he stood between Norrington and Sparrow, putting himself in the way, he had worn the same expression he is wearing now. Only this time, Elizabeth will not leave her father's side to join Turner. This time, he is alone, on a field of combat, standing between Norrington and the woman he loves.

Time slows to a crawl. Commodore Norrington closes his eyes and allows his pistol hand to droop slightly. He hears the exhalations of relief that come from Groves and Gillette, and Elizabeth's face swims in front of his closed eyes, her eyes shining with gratitude. Norrington sees Turner going home and being welcomed by his wife, embracing her, kissing her, leading her to their bed... His eyes fly open and he raises his pistol again, hand and eye steadily on target. A look of surprise flashes across Turner's face as he raises his pistol in defense. Norrington pulls the trigger, willing the bullet to strike true, to bring Turner down, to kill him. He hears Turner's bullet whiz past his ear and reflexively turns his head away. When he looks back to his opponent, he sees the young blacksmith lying on the ground, the doctor kneeling over him.

Groves stands over the fallen Turner, despair in his eyes as the doctor looks up at him and shakes his head. He has lost a friend, and now he has the unenviable duty of informing Elizabeth Turner that her husband will not be returning home. Gillette collects Turner's effects and hands them to Groves, who holds the bundle gingerly. They speak quietly, something that Norrington can't hear, and then Groves is on his way back to Port Royal, to fulfill the rest of his obligations to Will Turner.

The Commodore realizes he is still holding the pistol, his hand clenched painfully around it. Gillette is speaking with the doctor, no doubt arranging to have Turner's body transported to Port Royal, where he can be given a proper burial. Then the lieutenant is by his side, taking the gun from his numbed fingers and leading him off the field. He is saying something, but Norrington doesn't hear him. Until that very last moment, he had not thought he could bring himself to kill Turner. Now that the deed is done, even though there will be no official consequences, he can not imagine himself talking to Elizabeth, asking for her forgiveness, asking her to consider him more than a friend.

"What have I done, Gillette?"


	3. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth has a bit of trouble dealing with Will's death.

> Great grief does not of itself put an end itself. Seneca, _Troades_

Elizabeth is surprised to see Will up early today, putting on his best coat and carefully belting on his sword. When she asks where he is going, he says something about a meeting with a prospective client and then kisses her, telling her to go back to bed. Clara, her maidservant, comes into her room two hours later, to announce that an Officer Groves is there to see her. She dresses quickly and goes to meet him, entering the room with a smile on her face. Will and Groves have become friends, and she always welcomes his visits. The smile disappears when Groves turns around and she sees what he is holding.

He has made the requisite apologies after informing her of her husband's death. Elizabeth sinks into a chair, Groves's words fading to a murmur in the background. She looks at him, and forces herself to speak.

"How did he die?"

"It was a duel, Mrs. Turner." Given the nature of his visit, Groves thinks it proper to address her formally.

"Who was it? Who killed my husband?" Elizabeth chokes out the words, but somewhere deep inside her, she already knows the answer.

"Commodore Norrington was William's opponent," Groves says. "Your husband challenged him for impugning his, and your, honor. He never told me what the precise reason was," he adds before Elizabeth can ask.

"Thank you," Elizabeth tells him, getting up. "I'm going to lie down for a bit, now, if you'll excuse me." With that, she is gone, and Clara comes in to show him to the door.

When Groves is gone, Elizabeth locks her bedroom door and throws herself on her bed. She clutches Will's coat to her, inhaling the scent it still carries. Something crinkles in the pocket and she draws it out. It is a letter, addressed to her, in Will's looping handwriting.

> _My dearest Elizabeth,_

_If you are reading this, then my morning appointment with Commodore Norrington did not turn out in my favor. Forgive me for not telling you, but I was certain I could settle the matter and not have to trouble you with it. If you are reading this, then I think you should know what led to my death._

_Commodore Norrington saw me with Anamaria, when she delivered Jack's payment for the order. He accused me of spying, of passing information on to the pirates so they could attack Port Royal again. I tried to explain the truth of the matter, but he did not listen. In his inebriated state, I doubt he would have believed anyone. He insisted I was a spy, and that he would have me arrested. _

_I wished to keep my business dealings with Jack Sparrow more or less private, and the Commodore's words did not leave me with any other choice. I challenged him to a duel. Obviously, I did not survive, and I can only hope that you will someday forgive me my actions. Know that all I ever wanted was to spend my life with you, Elizabeth._

_The money Jack sent is in the chest in my study. Jack insisted on paying thrice what it cost to fulfill the order, and there is enough there to keep you comfortable for a long time. Jack's order is completed, as you will find if you look in the largest chest in the smithy. If you wish to maintain contact with Captain Sparrow, you may inform him of this. He will probably be sending someone to pick up the chest, as I had informed Anamaria that the order was complete when I spoke to her last._

_Please, Elizabeth, whatever you do, do not confront the Commodore about the duel. I did what I had to, and I knew the risks involved. I do not want you to dwell on my death. Perhaps you will find love again, marry again, have children... Whatever course you choose to pursue, I hope that it brings you the happiness I could not._

_With all my love and affection,_

_Your William_

Elizabeth cries then. Cries a river of tears for the dreams of a life together they had spun. Cries for her dead husband, and for herself. She knows that she is well provided for, both by the pirate gold and Will's earnings in the last four months. After their return to Port Royal and the discovery of Mr. Brown's death – the old fool had drunk himself to death, it seemed – Will had taken over the smithy. Orders had poured in, from the soldiers at Fort Charles, and from the wealthier residents of the city. People had begun to come in from outside of Port Royal, drawn by the increasing fame of the Turner Blades. Now, there will be no more blades, no more customers, no more Will.

***

Three weeks have passed since Will's death, and Elizabeth finds herself dreading every night. The dreams had begun the night after Groves brought her the news. She dreams of Will's death, different every time, and more gruesome every time. Over and over, he dies at the hands of Commodore Norrington. Sometimes he stays dead, and sometimes he returns from the grave, the moonlight painting his skeleton silver as he grins down at her, standing over her bed. She wakes up screaming from the dreams, soaked in a cold sweat.

Looking into the mirror, Elizabeth can barely recognize herself. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she looks thin and pale, her normally golden skin losing much of its glow and color since she has begun shutting herself in her room, curtains drawn. Elizabeth knows she cannot continue this way for much longer. She has asked Clara to find out which doctor could see her on a short notice, in the late afternoon. Clara returned with the name of Doctor Abberline, and an appointment for the next afternoon. Now as she combs her hair and tries to make herself presentable, Elizabeth hopes fervently the doctor will give her what she needs.

***

The lamp gutters, the wick almost burnt out. The light flickers and flashes, shining weakly through the green liquid in the bottle on the nightstand, casting a pool of pale green light on the pillow next to Elizabeth's head. She stares at it with empty eyes, slowly drifting into oblivion. She sleeps well these days, or as well as the laudanum allows. The nightmares of Will's death have stopped, and if she drinks enough, she can manage to get through the visits from everyone who comes to check on her. She is pleasant, calm, assuring everyone that she will be all right. Her father is satisfied when she agrees to come to dinner at the mansion once a week. They have talked of what she intends to do – sell the smithy, possibly the house itself, maybe move away from Port Royal. She has spoken of returning to England, but it was only for the benefit of the governor. Satisfied his daughter was recovering from her grief, he brought up the idea of another marriage, but Elizabeth has refused to even hear him out.

"I suppose you're going to bring up Commodore Norrington again," she hissed at him.

"Elizabeth! I would not dream of such a thing!" He protested, and did not bring up marriage in their conversations again.

She is still pale and thin, but the dark circles under her eyes are slowly disappearing. Clara watches her mistress closely, insisting on daily walks around town, refusing to let Elizabeth lock herself in her room again. Slowly, Elizabeth is beginning to feel better and better. She manages to oversee the sale of the smithy, keeping only the chest Will had left for Jack Sparrow, and an exquisitely forged dagger for herself.

Clara brings her gossip sometimes, telling her of the comings and goings in Port Royal. There are several young men who were considering courting Elizabeth, and Clara informs her that she does not hesitate to tell anyone who would listen what she thinks of that idea.

"And you not even a year a widow," she tells Elizabeth, her voice rising in her excitement. "Any man who would think of courtin' ye now, mum, would not get even so much as a 'good day' from anyone, I told them." Elizabeth laughs at the maid's earnest outrage, and Clara smiles at her. "'Tis good to hear ye laugh, mum. Ye hav'na laughed since..." She trails off and gets to her feet, making excuses, and fairly runs from the room.

***

Three months after her visit to Doctor Abberline, Commodore Norrington comes to call at the house. Elizabeth listens from Will's study as Clara greets the Commodore, and informs him that her mistress is not seeing anyone. She promises him to give his regards to Elizabeth and then promptly shows him the door. Clara knows that the Commodore was responsible for Will's death, and while she accepts the outcome of the duel as legitimate, she blames him entirely for her mistress's condition. Elizabeth stands in the window, watching Norrington's retreating form, wanting nothing more than to run after him and thrust a knife in his back. Instead, she starts to throw things around the room, until the floor is covered with books and loose papers, and she is sitting on the floor with her back against a wall, crying. Clara finds her in the study well after dark, curled up on the floor, asleep. When the maidservant touches her shoulder to wake her, Elizabeth screams, caught in a waking nightmare. With shaking hands, Clara pours her mistress a double dose of laudanum and puts her to sleep.

***

It is the day of her weekly dinner with her father, and Elizabeth puts on her best dress and lets Clara arrange her hair in a new style. The carriage that waits for her is necessary, even if she would have preferred to walk, given the storm raging outside. Clara insists on holding an umbrella over her despite getting soaked herself, and Elizabeth is glad to be out of the house for once. For the past several days, Clara has fussed over her more than usual, worried about another relapse following the Commodore's visit. Strangely, since that day, Elizabeth has felt better than she has in weeks, and actually looks forward to seeing her father again.

Now, as the carriage rolls toward the governor's mansion, Elizabeth wonders how long it will be before her father starts bringing up the idea of marriage again. True, it has barely been a month since Will's death, but she supposes some people would think that a long enough mourning period. She doesn't know how to tell her father that she does not intend to marry again. She is wealthier than anyone knew – thanks largely to Jack Sparrow's generous payment as well as outstanding bills from some of Will's customers, who are still paying for their purchases. Money is not a problem for her, and she definitely does not need a man to help her manage.

The carriage rolls through the gate of the mansion, and Elizabeth looks out the window. Sure enough, there is a liveried servant waiting to help her in. Looking closer, Elizabeth realizes the servant is most likely assisting her father's guest into the carriage waiting at the front of the house already. As she watches, the other carriage rolls towards the gate, and she sees Commodore Norrington's surprised face looking out the window.

Furious, Elizabeth storms into her father's study.

"What was he doing here?" She demands.

"Elizabeth, please, calm yourself," Weatherby Swann tries to placate his daughter. "The Commodore and I were discussing the latest improvements to Fort Charles, as well as the commissioning ceremony for the new ship. The HMS Vindicator is an even finer ship than the Interceptor was," he tells her proudly.

"I don't care about your ships, Father! I care that you're entertaining the man who killed my husband in your home!"

"Elizabeth, Commodore Norrington told me about the reason for the duel," the governor begins quietly. "If Will was in fact passing information to the pirates..."

"How can you even say that! Will would have never done something like that!" Elizabeth screams at him. "You know perfectly well he was filling an order for Jack!"

"That alone would have been enough to get him arrested," he tells her.

"But the bastard didn't arrest him, did he? He goaded Will into challenging him to a duel, and then he killed him!"

"If Will hadn't been so rash-"

"Don't you dare blame this on him!" Elizabeth's hand rises up and she slaps her father. They both take a step backwards, Governor Swann's hand going to his face, rubbing at the reddened cheek. "Don't you dare try to take the blame off Norrington. He killed my husband, to get him out of the way. And now that I've refused to see him, he's come to you to try to persuade me to change my mind, hasn't he?"

The silence in the room is enough of a confirmation for Elizabeth. The governor avoids eye contact with her, and she gathers up her skirts and heads for the door.

"If the Commodore should inquire as to your progress in convincing me to allow him to visit, you may tell him to go to hell, Father," she says coldly, and leaves the study, motioning for the manservant to bring her cloak and summon her carriage. She has lost her appetite and there is no point in remaining in her father's house any longer.

That evening, she sends off a letter to Tortuga, hoping it will find its recipient quickly. After the letter is sent, she begins to gather what few things she does not want to leave behind.


End file.
